


The inconvenience of being 'the chosen one'

by Stuckytrashaf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, game of thrones, harry potter/game of thrones - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Game of Thrones AU, Gay, Harry Potter AU, Jon is Harry, M/M, Memes, Might have problems with some technicalities but ...., Multi, Self-Indulgent, game of thrones/harry potter, nerd culture will ensue, relationships are not yet established
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stuckytrashaf/pseuds/Stuckytrashaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>also known as 'In which Jon Snow is Harry Potter and shit gets real'</p><p>Jon Sn- I mean, Targaryen is the chosen one. Everyone knows, except Jon.<br/>He's about to embark on the life of a wizard.<br/>Which, may go well... but then again, where's the fun in that? </p><p>(Some ages and other not that important things have been changed or altered slightly for a generally better story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters, or the Harry Potter story which this is loosely based on.. as the story progresses it will divert from the original story more  
> Oh, and for the purpose of the story, Davos is half-giant.... and Cersei and Roberts children are legitimate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I FIXED THE PARAGRAPHING PROBLEM!

Mr and Mrs Baelish, of the Eyrie, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr Baelish was the manager of a very important bank, where he handled the money of the very wealthy. He was a short man of slender build; he had very sharp features and a small pointed beard on his chin. His hair was short and dark, and already had threads of grey running through it. Mrs Baelish, was thick of body, with long auburn hair that reached her waist, and she had sharp blue eyes that missed nothing, and came in very useful as she spent so much of her time spying on her neighbours. The Baelishs had a small son called Robert and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. 

The Baelishes had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think that they could bear it if anyone found out about the Starks, or even worse, the Targaryens. Mrs Targaryen was Mrs Baelish's good-sister, whilst Mrs Stark was Mrs Baelishes natural sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs Baelish pretended that she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unBaelishish as it was possible to be. The Baelishes shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if either family arrived in the street. The Baelishes knew that both the Starks and Targaryens had small sons of their own, however they'd never even seen them. These boys were good reasons for keeping her sister and good-sister away, they didn't want Robert mixing with children like that. 

When Mr and Mrs Baelish woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing mysterious about the cloudy sky outside that might suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Baelish hummed as he picked out his tie for work -grey with navy birds- for work, and Mrs Baelish gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Robert into his high chair. None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window. 

At half past eight, Mr Baelish picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Baelish on the cheek, and tried to kiss Robert goodbye but missed, because Robert was now having a tantrum and throwing cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr Baelish as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of the drive. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Baelish didn't realise what he had seen - then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of the road, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr Baelish blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. 

As Mr Baelish drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said 'The Eyrie' - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr Baelish gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town he thought of nothing except the new bank account that he was opening for a very important client. 

But, on the edge of town, banking was driven from his mind by something else. As he sat in his usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Baelish couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion trend. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Baelish was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr Baelish that this probably had to be some silly stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something .. yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr Baelish had arrived in the Banks car park, his mind firmly on accounts and money. 

Mr Baelish always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on banking that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl before, even at night-time. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and manipulated a few clients. He was in a very good mood until lunch-time, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakers opposite. 

He had forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large donut in his bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. 

"The Targaryens, that's right, that's what I heard-" "- yes, their son, Jon -" 

Mr Baelish stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. He dashed across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized the telephone and had almost finished dialling his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his beard, thinking ... no, he was being stupid. Targaryen may be an unusual name, but not too uncommon. He was sure there were lots of people called Targaryen who had a son called Jon. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure his nephew was even called Jon. He'd never seen the boy. It might've been Jordan. Or Joseph. There was no point in worrying Mrs Baelish, she aways got so upset at any mention of her good-sister. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that ... but all the same, those people in cloaks... 

He found it much harder to concentrate on banking that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door. "Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Baelish realised that the man was clad in a violet cloak. He didn't seem upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that caused passers-by to stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!" 

The old man hugged Mr Baelish around the middle and walked off. Mr Baelish stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He had also been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he did not approve of imagination. As he pulled into the driveway, the first thing he noticed - and it didn't improve his mood - was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same mismatched eyes. "Shoo!" said Mr Baelish loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behaviour? Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife. 

Mrs Baelish had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Robert had learnt a new word ("Shan't!"). Mr Baelish tried his best to act normally. When Robert had been put to bed, after much protesting on his sons part, Mr Baelish went into the living-room in time to catch the last report on the evening news: "And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The news reader allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" 

"Well Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Winterfell, Pyke and Dorne have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight." 

Mr Baelish sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over The Seven Kingdoms? Owls flying by daylight. Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters ... Mrs Baelish came into the living-room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good, he would have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Lysa, dear - you haven't heard from your good-sister lately, have you?" As he had expected, Mrs Baelish looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister, nor a good-sister. "No," she said sharply. "Why?" 

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr Baelish mumbled. "Owls ... Shooting stars ... And there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today ..." 

"So?" snapped Mrs Baelish. 

"Well, I just thought ... maybe ... it was something to do with ... you know ... her lot." 

Mrs Baelish sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr Baelish wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name 'Targaeryan'. He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son - he'd be about Roberts age now, wouldn't he?" 

"I suppose so," said Mrs Baelish stiffly. 

"What's his name? James, isn't it?" 

"Jon. Nasty, common name, if you ask me." 

"Oh, yes," said Mr Baelish, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree." 

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs Baelish was in the bathroom, Mr Baelish crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down the road as if it was waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Targaryens? If it did ... if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it. 

The Baelishes got into bed. Mrs Baelish was quickly asleep but Mr Baelish lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last comforting thought, before he fell asleep was that even if the Targaryens were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Baelish. The Targaryens were well aware what he and Lysa thought about them and their kind ... He couldn't see how he and Lysa could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect them ... How very wrong he was. 

Mr Baelish may have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of the street. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all. 

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he had just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. 

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on this road. He was tall, broad shouldered, sinewy, and quite old judging by the silver in his close-cropped beard, though the hair on his head is still black. He was wearing long robes, a dark grey cloak which swept the ground and practical, buckled boots with stag-shaped, gold buckles. His eyes were a deep, dark blue and they appeared serious beneath his furrowed brows. His face has a tightness too it, like cured leather, and his lips are thin and pale, and shaped into a frown. This man's name was Stannis Baratheon. 

Stannis Baratheon didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his inside pocked, looking for something. What he did seem to realise, was that he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him, he chuckled - which those close to Stannis Baratheon know is not common - and muttered, "I should have known." 

He had found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of the window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Baelish, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening on the pavement. Stannis slipped the Put-Outer back into his cloak and set off down the street towards the house belonging to the Baelish family, where he sat down on the wall besides the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it. 

"I hadn't thought to see you here, Professor Lannister." He turned towards the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was faced with a rather short man with mismatched green and black eyes with pale blonde hair and a rather ugly face. He, too, was wearing a cloak, a dark red one. His face was twisted into a thoughtful expression, however he appeared distinctly ruffled. 

"How did you know it was me?" he asked. 

"I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." 

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," retorted Professor Lannister, bitterness in his words. 

"All day? I'd have thought you of all people would be out celebrating? I must've passed at least a dozen feasts and parties on my way here," Stannis questioned. 

Professor Lannister raised an eyebrow, and sighed in frustration. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," he said impatiently. 

"You would think that they would try to be more careful," Stannis agreed,"Even the Muggles have noticed something's going on," 

"It was on their news," Professor Lannister confirmed, jerking his head at the Baelishes dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls ... shooting stars ... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Pyke - I'll bet that was Euron Greyjoy. He never had much sense." 

"You can't blame them," said Stannis, more gently than he had spoken to Professor Lannister ever before. "We've had little to celebrate for eleven years." 

"I know what," said Professor Lannister irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being horribly careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle Clothes, swapping rumours," He threw a sharp, sideways glance at Stannis here, as though hoping Stannis would tell him something, but he didn't, so he went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day he seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Baratheon?" 

"It certainly seems so," said Stannis Baratheon,"We have much to be thankful for," 

Professor Lannister then reached into his robes,"Would you care for a sherbet lemon?" 

"A what?" 

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of muggle sweet that I've found myself rather fond of." 

"No, thank you," said Stannis Baratheon coldly, his face growing more serious, as though he didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "Now, even if You-Know-Who has gone -" 

"Oh, come on Baratheon. Surely someone so sensible, like yourself, can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: The White Walker," Stannis flinched, but Professor Lannister, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. And I have never seen any reason to be afraid of saying The White Walkers name." 

"I know you haven't," said Stannis, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring, "But you're different. And everyone knows you're the only one that You-Know - oh, all right, White Walker, respected. He may even have been frightened of you," 

"You flatter me," said Professor Lannister dryly. "But The White Walker had powers I will never have," 

"Only because you're - forgive me for saying this - to noble to use them." 

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Maester Luwin told me he liked my new riding boots." Professor Lannister joked. 

Stannis shot a sharp look at his companion and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone is saying? About why he disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" 

It seemed that Stannis had reached the point that he was most anxious to discuss. Professor Lannister understood, it was the real reason he had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day. 

"So , tell me," answered Professor Lannister, "What they're saying. Is it true, that last night The White Walker turned up in The Tower of Joy? He went to find the Targaryens, we know that much. The rumour is that Lyanna and Rhaegar are ... that they're dead." 

Stannis bowed his head. Professor Lannister pursed his lips and blinked, his confident facade flittering for a moment, before he nodded, "As I suspected. But that's not all I've heard. They're saying that he tried to kill the Targaryens son, Jon. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill the child. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Jon Targaryen, The White Walkers power somehow broke - and that's why he is gone." 

Stannis nodded gravely. 

"It's true?" Professor Lannister repeated, shocked, "After all he has done ... and all of the people he has killed. He couldn't survive a small boy? It's just astounding ... of all the things to have stopped him. But how, in the name of the Seven, did Jon survive?" 

"We can only guess," Stannis replied, "We may never know." He then took out a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must've made sense to Stannis, though, because he put it back into his pocket and said, "Davos is late. I suppose it was he who told you I would be here, by the way?" 

"Yes," said Professor Lannister. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?" 

"I have come to bring Jon to his good-aunt and uncle," 

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" questioned Professor Lannister, "No, Baratheon, really - you can't. I've been watching them all day, you couldn't find two people who are less like us. And their son ... a spoiled brat, I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets." 

"It's the best place for Jon," said Stannis. 

"The best place?" Professor Lannister shook his head, "Why not send him to live with his biological uncle? Eddard Stark would surely be willing to take care of his nephew." 

Stannis glared at his companion, "Eddard Stark will offer, I am certain, however Jon will be much better off growing up away from the fame that will surely follow him. And Eddard and Catelyn Stark have their own son, with another already on the way, they will have a large family and this will be no place for Jon to grow up - he would surely be admired, and his ego would become immeasurable." 

Professor Lannister opened his mouth, changed his mind, swallowed and then said, "And I suppose there is nothing that I can say to change your mind? Very well, then. And how is the boy arriving here, Baratheon?" He eyed Stannis' cloak, as though he thought that Jon might be hidden beneath it. 

"Davos is bringing him." 

"And you think it is - wise - to trust Davos with such an important task?" 

"I would trust him with my life," said Stannis. 

Professor Lannister began to reply but was interrupted by a low rumbling sound. The sound grew steadily louder as the pair looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up into the sky - and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice the height of a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply to big to be allowed - and so wild. His hair may not have been long, but it was tangled and coloured with grey, and silver, and black. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets. 

"Davos," said Stannis, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?" 

"I borrowed it, Professor Baratheon. Sir." Explained the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Jaime Lannister lent it me. Oh, and I've got Jon. Sir." 

"Good. No problems, were there?" 

"No, sir. The tower was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep when we was flyin' over The Twins." 

Stannis and Professor Lannister bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just about visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a curl of jet black hair that rested over his forehead was a patch of skin, whiter than snow - standing out on the infants already pale skin. 

"Is that where - ?" Wondered Professor Lannister, aloud. 

"Yes," said Stannis, "Well, give him here, Davos - we'd best get this over with." 

Stannis then took Jon into his arms and turned towards the Baelishes house. He stepped over the low garden wall and approached the front door. He laid Jon gently on the doorstep, took out a letter from his cloak, tucked it inside Jon's blankets and then came back from the door and stood with his companions. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Davos' shoulders shook, Professor Lannister blinked furiously, and Stannis had a very serious look to his face - even more so than was typical of him. 

"Well," Stannis said finally, "That's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and enjoy the celebrations," 

"Yeah," said Davos. "I'd best get this bike away, g'night Professor Lannister, Professor Baratheon. Sir." Wiping his eyes on his dirty jacket sleeve, Davos swung himself onto the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night. 

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor Lannister," said Stannis, nodding to his colleague. Professor Lannister nodded in reply and disappeared into the night. 

Stannis turned and walked down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps, so that the street glowed suddenly orange and he could make out the bundle of blankets on the step of the Baelishes home. 

"Good luck, Jon," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. 

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of the street, which lay silent and tidy beneath the inky sky, in the very last place that you would expect astonishing things to occur. Jon Targaryen rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter besides him and he slept on, not knowing that he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours time by Mrs Baelish's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Robert ... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Jon Targaryen - the boy who lived!" 


	2. The Vanishing Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters will be quite similar to the books, but when Jon gets to Hogwarts, you'll see a big change...

Nearly ten years had passed since the Baelish family had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but the Eyrie had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number seven on the Baelishes' front door; it crept into their living-room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Baelish had seen the fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantlepiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a small pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bobble hats - but Robert Baelish was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a sickly looking, brunette boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, and being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

Yet, Jon Targaryen was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Lysa was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.  
"Up! Get up! Now!"  
Jon woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.  
"Up!" she screeched. Jon heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker. He rolled on to his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorbike in it. He had a funny feeling that he'd had that same dream before.  
His aunt was outside the door.  
"Are you up yet?" she demanded.  
"Nearly," said Jon.  
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect on my Sweetrobin's birthday."  
Jon groaned.  
"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.  
"Nothing, nothing ..."  
Robert's birthday - how could he have forgotten? Jon got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Jon was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all of Robert's birthday gifts. It looked as though Robert had got the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Robert wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Jon, as Robert was very sickly, and thin and if he tried to use his bike Jon feared he may fall off. And besides, Robert hated exercise - though he did love to watch his school friends using Jon as a punching bag. Robert himself could never land a hit on Jon, and although he didn't look it, Jon was quite fast.  
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a small, dark cupboard, but Jon had always been small and skinny for his age - even more so than Robert, who was ill and therefore had an excuse. He looked even smaller and skinnier because all he had to wear was his uncles old, childhood clothes, and his uncle had been much taller than Jon as a child.  
He had a long face, knobbly knees, and stormy grey eyes. The only thing Jon liked about his own appearance was the pale patch on skin on his forehead, that was white like snow, standing out even against his naturally pale complexion. This feature, he had had for as long as he could remember, and the first question he can remember asking Aunt Lysa was how he had got it.  
"In the car crash, when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Baelishe. 

Uncle Petyr entered the kitchen as Jon was turning the bacon.  
"Comb your hair!" he said, by way of a morning greeting.  
About once a week, Uncle Petyr looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Jon needed a haircut. Jon must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way - curly, and all over the place.  
Jon was frying eggs by the time Robert arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Robert looked a lot like Aunt Lysa. He had a thin, waxy complexion, watery blue eyes, and thin lips. Aunt Lysa often said Robert looked like a baby angel - Jon often said Robert looked like a pig in a wig.

Jon put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Robert, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.  
"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last last year."  
"My Sweetrobin, you haven't counted Uncle Varys's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."  
"All right, thirty-seven then," said Robert, going red in the face.  
Jon, who could see a huge tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Robert tried to turn the table over.  
Aunt Lysa obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, "And we will buy you another two presents. Is that all right?"  
Robert thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, "So i'll have thirty ... thirty ..."  
"Thirty-nine, Sweetrobin," said Aunt Lysa.  
"Oh." Robert sat down heavily and grabbed the closest parcel. "All right then."  
Uncle Petyr chuckled.  
"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Robert!" he ruffled Robert's hair.  
At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Lysa went up to answer it while Jon and Uncle Petyr watched Robert unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote control aeroplane, sixteen new video games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Lysa came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried.  
"Bad news, Petyr," she said. "Sister Mordane's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Jon's direction.  
Robert's mouth fell open in horror but Jon's heart gave a leap. Every year on Robert's birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year Jon was left behind with Sister Mordane , a mad old ex-nun who lived two streets away. Jon hated it there. The whole house smelled very strongly of cleaning supplies, lavender, and -oddly- cabbage, and Sister Mordane always made Jon practise sewing.  
"Now what?" said Aunt Lysa, looking furiously at Jon as though he'd planned this. Jon knew he ought to feel sorry that Sister Mordane had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself that it would be a full year before he would have to prick his fingers all day as he listened to stories about Sister Mordane's many, many cats.  
"We could phone Varys," Uncle Petyr suggested.  
"Don't be ridiculous, Petyr, he hates the boy."  
The Baelishes often spoke about Jon like this, as though he wasn't there - or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.  
"What about your brother, Edmure?"  
"On holiday in Highgarden," snapped Lysa.  
"You could just leave me here," Jon suggested, hopefully (he'd be able to watch television for a change and perhaps even go on Roberts computer).  
Aunt Lysa looked as though she had just swallowed a lemon. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.  
"I won't blow up the house," said Jon, but they weren't listening.  
"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Lysa slowly, "... and leave him in the car ... "  
Uncle Petyr shook his head "The car's new. He's not sitting in it alone ..."  
Robert began to cry loudly, his face going purple. In fact, he wasn't really crying, it had been years since he really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.  
"My baby, oh Sweetrobin, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.  
"I ... don't ... want ... him ... t-to come!" Robert yelled between huge pretend sobs. "He always s-spoils everything!" He shot Jon a nasty smirk through the gap in his mother's arms.  
Just then, the doorbell rang - "Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Lysa frantically - and a moment later, Roberts best friend, Mord Stone, walked in with his mother. Mord was a large boy, built like a boulder. He was usually the one who would hit people for Robert.  
Robert stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Jon, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Baelishes car with Mord and Robert, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they left, Uncle Petyr had taken Jon aside.  
"I warn you," he had said putting his weaselly face right up close to Jon's, "I warn you now, boy - any misbehaviour, anything at all - and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."  
"I'm not going to do anything," said Jon,"Honestly,"  
But Uncle Petyr didn't believe him. No one ever did.  
The problem was, strange things always seemed to happen around Jon, and it was just no good telling the Baelishes that he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Lysa, tired of Jon coming back from the barber's looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short that he was almost bald except from his fringe, which she left 'to hide that horrible mark'.  
Robert had laughed himself silly at Jon, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his old fashioned, baggy clothing and 'strange northern accent', that Jon still doesn't know how he picked up, and that his aunt and uncle hate.  
The next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Lysa has sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he tried hard to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.  
Another time, Aunt Lysa had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Roberts (orange with a lumpy brown bird). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fit a gloved puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Jon. Aunt Lysa had decided it must have shrunk in the wash, and to his great relief, Jon wasn't punished.  
On the other hand, he had gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Robert's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Jon's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Baelishes had recieved a very angry letter from Jon's headmistress telling them that Jon had been climbing on school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Petyr through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. Jon supposed that the wind must have caught him mid-jump. 

Today, however, nothing was wrong. It was even worth being with Robert and Mord to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Sister Mordane's depressing living-room.  
While he drove, Uncle Petyr complained to Aunt Lysa. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Jon, the council, Jon, the bank and Jon were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning it was 'The Great British Bake Off'.  
"The bake's that they've chosen this year, ridiculous, honestly it's a relief that Channel 4 are going to take over! And that Selasi, what with his motorbike.." he said disapprovingly.  
"I had a dream about a motorbike," said Jon, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."  
Uncle Petyr nearly crashed the car into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Jon, his face like a rather limp beetroot, 'MOTORBIKES DON'T FLY!"  
Robert and Mord sniggered.  
"I know they don't," said Jon,"It was only a dream."  
But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Baelishes hated for than his asking questions, it was his talking about something acting in a way it shouldn't. No matter if it was a dream, or even a cartoon- they seemed to think that he might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Sunday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Baelishes bought Robert and Mord large chocolate ice creams at the entrance, and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Jon what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice lolly. It wasn't bad either, Jon thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head (stuck on the glass were handmade stickers reading 'RIP Harambe', and ruder phrases that caused Aunt Lysa to usher the boys away) and looking remarkably like Mord, except that it didn't have chocolate around its mouth.

Jon had the best morning that he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Baelishes so that Robert and Mord, who were starting to get bored of the animals by lunch-time, wouldn't fall back into their favourite hobby: hitting him.  
They ate in the zoo restaurant and when Robert had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory wasn't big enough, Uncle Petyr bought him another one, and Jon was allowed to finish the first.  
Jon felt, afterwards, that he should have known that it was all too good to last.  
After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Robert and Mord wanted to see the huge, poisonous cobras and thick man-crushing pythons. Robert quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Petyr's car and crushed it into a dustbin - but at the moment, it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.  
Robert stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.  
"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Petyr tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.  
"Do it again." Robert ordered. Uncle Petyr rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.  
"This is boring," Robert moaned, and shuffled away.  
Jon moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if the snake had died of boredom itself - no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard for a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Lysa hammering on the door to wake you up - at least he got to visit the rest of the house.  
The snake suddenly opened it's beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised it's head until it's eyes were on a level with Jon's.  
It winked.  
Jon stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.  
The snake jerked it's head towards Uncle Petyr and Robert then raised it's eyes to the ceiling. It gave Jon a look that quite plainly said: 'I get that all the time'.  
"I know," Jon murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him "It must be really annoying."  
The snake nodded vigorously.  
"Where do you come from, anyway?" Jon asked.  
The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Jon peered at it.  
'Boa Constrictor, Brazil'  
"Was it nice there?"  
The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Jon read on: 'This specimen was bred in the zoo'.  
"Oh, I see. So you've never actually been to Brazil?"  
As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Jon made both of them jump.  
"ROBERT! MR BAELISH! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"  
Robert came rushing over towards them as fast as he could.  
"Out of the way, you," he said, as Mord pushed Jon out of the way. Caught by surprise, Jon fell hard onto the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast that no one saw how it happened- one second, Mord and Robert were leaning right up close to the glass, and the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror. Jon sat up and gasped; the glass in front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor - people throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.  
As the snake slid swiftly past him, Jon could've sworn that a low, hissing voice said,"Brazil, here I come ... Thanksss, amigo."  
The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.  
"But the glass," he kept saying, "Where did the glass go?"  
The zoo director himself made Aunt Lysa a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologised over and over again. Mord and Robert could only babble. As far as Jon had seen, the snake hadn't done anything but snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Petyr's car, Robert was telling them how it had nearly bitten of his leg, while Mord was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Jon at least, was Mord calming down enough to say,"Jon was talking to it, weren't you, Jon?"  
Uncle Petyr waited until Mord was safely out of the house before starting on Jon. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He did manage to say,"Go - cupboard - stay - no meals,' before he collapsed into a chair and Aunt Lysa had to run and get him a rather large glass of wine. And another for herself.

Jon lay in his dark cupboard, much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and so he couldn't be sure that the Baelishes were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.  
He had lived with the Baelishes for almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he had been a baby and his parents died in a car crash. He couldn't remember being on the car when his parents died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during the long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where the green light came from.  
He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.  
When he was younger, Jon had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming and taking him away, but it had never happened; the Baelishes were his only family. Yet sometimes, he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street knew him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat bowed at him while out shopping with Aunt Lysa and Robert, once. After asking Jon furiously if he knew anything about the man, Aunt Lysa had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking woman dressed in all had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about these people was the way that they seemed to disappear the second Jon tried to get a closer look.  
At school, Jon had no one. Everyone knew that Robert's gang hated that odd Jon Targaryen in his baggy old clothes, and messy hair. And nobody liked to disagree with Robert's gang.


	3. The Letters From No One

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor had earned Jon his longest punishment to date, by the next time he was allowed out of his cupboard the summer holidays had already begun, and Robert had already broken his new cine-camera, crashed his remote-control aeroplane and, first time on his racing bike, knocked down poor Sister Mordane as she passed their home on her crutches.  
Jon was very glad that school was over, but there was no escaping Robert's gang- they visited the house every single day. Mord was big and stupid, Vardis was tall and brave, and Marillion did whatever they asked. But, as Robert was the most wealthy, and the oldest, he was their 'leader'. And the rest of them were quite happy to join in with his favourite activity: bullying Jon.   
Which was why Jon spent as little time in the house as possible. Instead, he would go outside, and sit in the park where he'd see families playing and smiling, children in their parents arms, and siblings chasing each other around the fields, and pushing one another on swings- he wondered, sometimes, how it must feel to belong, and to be a part of a real family. He would never know, Jon supposed.  
Sometimes, he would be lucky enough to see the kind old man -who's name he was still too afraid to ask- walking his dogs. He had far more than would ever be considered sensible, or necessary, but Jon loved playing with the dogs, they weren't going to judge him, or accuse him of being poor, or, a loser or weird. 

When September came, and he inevitably has to return to school, he would not be attending school with Robert for the first time in his life. And, in this, he had a tiny ray of hope. Robert had a place at Uncle Petyr's old school, Sir Arryns College. Mord was going there, too. Jon, on the other hand, would be attending Wolfswood, the local comprehensive. Robert found this very amusing.  
"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Wolfswood," he told Jon (Jon suspected this only happened in the American movies that Robert sometimes watched).  
"Want to come upstairs and practise?'   
"No thanks," said Jon,"I don't think the toilet's had anything as horrible as your head in it - it might be sick," Then, he ran, before Robert could work out what he said.

One day in July, Aunt Lysa took Robert out to buy his Arryns uniform, leaving Jon with Sister Mordane (who was very excited to show Jon the lovely, blue knitted jumper that her niece had gifted her, and then promptly thrown a matching -though less well made- black one, with the image of a slightly wonky bow and arrow, into Jons arms- he put it on, but thought it far too warm in the heat, even with the air conditioning on).  
That evening, Robert paraded around in his brand-new uniform. Arryns boys wore bottle green tailcoats, brown trousers and waistcoats embellished with a big blue fish. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other whilst the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.  
As Jon looked at Robert in his new tailcoat, Uncle Petyr said that it was the proudest moment of his life, whilst Aunt Lysa -as she tends to do- burst into tears and she that she simply couldn't believe that it was her Sweetrobin. Jon didn't trust himself to speak, he thought that two of his ribs might have already cracked from trying not to laugh.

The next morning, Jon didn't even have to time begin eating his toast before he heard the click of the letter-box and the flop of letters on the doormat.  
"Get the post, Robert," said Uncle Petyr, not glancing away from the novel in his hands.  
"Make Jon get it."  
"Get the post, Jon,"   
Jon sighed and went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Lysa's brother Edmure, who was holidaying in Highgarden, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and - a letter, for Jon!  
Jon picked it up, shocked. His heart beating faster than it should have been. No one, not even in his whole life, had ever written him a letter. And who would? He had no friends, and no other relatives. Yet here a letter was, addressed so clearly that there could not be a mistake:

Mr J. Targaryen   
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
The Eyrie  
Vale of Arryn

The envelope was very thick, and heavy, and made of a yellowish parchment, which Jon found most unusual. The address was written in emerald-green ink, and there was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his heart pounding and is hands trembling, Jon saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.  
"Hurry up, boy!' shouted Uncle Petyr from the kitchen  
Jon quickly shoved the letter into the waistband of his trousers, and pulled his shirt over it, keeping the letter hidden- he knew that the letter would make his aunt and uncle suspicious, and he wanted to get to read it. Then, he went back into the kitchen and handed Uncle Petyr the bill and the postcard.  
Uncle Petyr ripped open the bill, made a face in disgust and flipped over the postcard.  
"Ed's ill," he informed Lysa,"Ate something funny...'  
Jon excused himself, then, though nobody really noticed, nor cared, and returned to his cupboard to open the strange envelope.  
What he read, surprised Jon very much:

'HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Stannis Baratheon  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Targaryen,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
Yours sincerely,

Tyrion Lannister  
Deputy Headmaster'

There were hundreds of questions in Jon's head: Was this a prank? Could it be real? Could witches and wizards be real? Surely not. The mere thought went against everything Jon knew. Of course, it was nothing. Just a scam. A joke.  
Jon shoved it into his sock drawer, and forgot all about it.

That was, until a few weeks later, a very strange man showed up at his door.  
It was the night of Jon's birthday- his eleventh. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep so far, and it was 11.59pm. One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds.. twenty - ten - nine - maybe he would wake Robert up, just to annoy him - three - two -one -  
BOOM.  
Jon was so shocked he almost fell of the bed.   
Someone was outside, knocking to come in.  
BOOM. They knocked again.  
Jon got out of bed, and opened his cupboard door, and walked towards the door, careful to be quiet. There was a crash behind him, before he reached the door that almost made Jon trip over a pair of trainers that Robert had left in the hallway. Uncle Petyr and Aunt Lysa were hurrying down the stairs, Robert trailing behind, rubbing his eyes groggily.   
"Who's there?" Robert asked.  
Jon raised an eyebrow,"I can't see through the door."  
"Open it then, stupid!"   
So Jon did just that.   
A tall, wide man with greying hair stood before him, hair dripping with water as rain poured down on him outside.  
The man smiled widely at Jon, as if they were old friends, and swept him into an enthusiastic (though rather damp) hug.  
"JON! HOW WONDERFUL TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"   
The stranger set Jon down and shut the front door behind him, as he walked into the house.   
"Couldn't make us a cup of tea, could ya?" he asked, nodding at Uncle Petyr.  
Uncle Petyr made to speak, but the man turned away from him, facing Jon once more.  
"The last time I saw you, you was only a tiny baby," said the man,"You look just like your mother, but you've ya dad's eyes,"

Uncle Petyr made a surprised noise, then began towards,"I demand that you leave at once," he said,"You are breaking and entering!"  
The stranger rolled his eyes, making Jon muffle a laugh,"Shut up Baelish, you weasel!"  
"Anyway - Jon. Happy Birthday!" the man said, turning his back on the Baelishes,"I've got something for ya - i'm no baker, but i'm sure it'll taste alright,"   
From inside the pocket of his big grey overcoat, he pulled a slightly squashed box. Jon opened it, curiously. Inside was a large, chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Jon' written on it in green icing.   
Jon was dumbfounded, no one had even gotten him a birthday cake. He tried to say thank you, but somehow couldn't. Instead, he asked,"Who are you?"  
The man chuckled.  
"True, I haven't introduced myself. Davos Seaworth, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."  
He held out a hand and shook Jons rather roughly.  
"You'll know all about Hogwarts, of course."  
Jon thought back to the letter, that was the name! He was sure. But he knew nothing about it.  
"Not really," said Jon.  
Davos looked shocked.  
He turned to look at the Baelishes, Jon noticed that Robert had fallen asleep on the stairs, his aunt and uncle looked terrified, and Davos looked furious.

"You never told the boy about Hogwarts?" he demanded.  
Davos turned back towards Jon "Did you never wonder where your parents learnt it all?" he questioned.  
"All what?" Jon asked.  
"ALL WHAT?" repeated Davos, furious shock written clearly across his face.  
Davos leapt to his feet and walked towards his aunt and uncle.  
"Do you mean to tell me, that this boy knows nothing- about anything?"  
Jon thought this was going a bit far; he had been to school, after all, and his marks were good.  
"I know some things, maths and stuff.." he put in.  
But Davos simply shook his head,"I mean," he said,"About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Your parents' world."  
"You mean with witches and wizards?" Jon asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.  
Davos smiled at this,"EXACTLY!"   
This man was crazy, Jon decided, then.

"Do you know about you mum and dad?" Davos asked,"They're famous. You're famous."   
Definitely crazy.   
"Yeah.. my mum and dad weren't famous.."   
"You don't know, seven hells!" Davos ran his fingers through his thinning hair, fixing Jon with a bewildered stare,"You don't know what you are,"  
Uncle Petyr finally found his voice, then.  
"Stop!" he commanded,"Stop right there. Don't you say another word! You don't dare tell the boy anything!"  
Davos glared at Uncle Petyr furiously, he trembled with rage,"You never told him what was in Professor Baratheon's letter? I was there! I saw Stannis leave it, Baelish! And you kept it from the boy, all these years!"  
"Kept what from me?" Jon asked, curiously.   
"Stop! I forbid you!" yelled Aunt Lysa, her voice breaking in panic and emotion.  
Uncle Petyr stepped forwards, as if to grab Jon.  
"Oh shove it, both of ya!" yelled Davos.

"Jon - yer a wizard."

There was a silence in the house, and Jon couldn't help but laugh. This was what they'd been so desperate for Davos not to tell him? He looked at his aunt and uncle, expecting looks of confusion, or incredibility. But instead, his glance was met with looks of horror.  
Jon stopped laughing, then, and cleared his throat self-consciously.  
"I'm a what?"

"A wizard, o' course," Davos confirmed.   
Of course, Jon thought, because that made perfect sense.


	4. Hogwarts?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Who cares about buying school supplies, when you could be LEARNING MAGIC!?!?)
> 
> warning: some cheeky swears, so if for whatever reason you don't like that then sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't very long, i just wanted to update soooo.. enjoy! (or dont, but hopefully you will! helpful feedback is appreciated, inbox me?) 
> 
> Also next chapter is where we get some exciting action, so look forward to that..

Jon spent the remainder of his summer in a constant state of disbelief, and as he stood at Kings Cross Station, gripping a trolley that held his -rather unreasonable amount of- luggage as if it were his grip on reality (though the snow-white, wolfish puppy that sat aboard his trolley shouldn't really be included in this 'reality', as Jon's aunt and uncle would never have allowed a pet in the house, seeing as Robin was allergic to.. well, most domesticated animals), he still could not quite understand how his life went from lonely and mundane, to this quite unrealistic, though very exciting discovery of wizard-dom. Wizard-ness? Either way, he was a wizard. And it was the perfect excuse to get away from his family. And despite his aunt and uncle's protests of 'magic isn't real', and 'Hogwarts is for freaks', Jon rather suspected they were glad to see him go- Jon's uncle Petyr even gave him a suitcase- old, and battered, sure, but he said it belonged to Jon now, and there weren't many things that belonged to Jon, so he was quite pleased.

Now, Jon owned quite a reasonable amount of things, in his opinion: A suitcase, a set of 'wizard textbooks', a cauldron, robes, a wand (Jon had already forgotten the exact details of his wand, as he had been quite entranced by his surrounding when being 'chosen'- but he thought it had.. raven?), and most excitingly, his puppy. Ghost. Ghost was white, an albino. An outsider to his family, just like Jon.

Jon had spent a lot of time trying to train Ghost in his preparation for ..wizardhood(?), and he had had a fair amount of success, however no amount of training could teach Ghost to talk, and subsequently, tell Jon what the hell he was doing at a regular 'muggle' train station. Not that Ghost would be likely to know, Jon supposed.  
There were many people hurrying around the station, some holding baggage, some clearly commuting to work. People wearing anything from a fancy suit, to a tracksuit were boarding trains, and departing them frequently- noone was wearing robes. 

Then again, neither was Jon. He was dressed head-to-toe in his uncle's very dated hand-me-downs, as Davos had instructed him that wizards didn't tend to wear their robes often in the presence of muggles. This seemed quite stupid to Jon, because this way how would he ever manage to identify a fellow wizard, and therefore find out how to get to bloody Hogwarts!

All Davos had said before leaving Jon alone and rather confused, was 'hold on to your ticket'.  
Jon's ticket read 'The Hogwarts Express. Platform 9 and 3/4', but Jon wasn't dim. There is most certainly no such thing as Platform 9 and 3/4, that simply made no sense. Then again, Jon had gone his whole life believing there was no such thing as magic, so he supposed anything was possible.  
Unfortunately, even if this mysterious and improbable station did exist, Jon had no way of finding it, because as he stood between platforms 9 and 10, he saw no one but muggles. And, he suspected if he asked anyone for help, they'd think he was insane, or trying to be funny. 

So Jon would just wait, and patrol the area until.. something happened. Maybe Davos would come back for him. Davos had told Jon that he was supposedly quite famous, so really he should quite keen to help Jon out.

"OH FUCKING HELL! OW!" 

Jon had been so caught up in his thoughts, that he hadn't noticed a trolley appear seemingly out of no where, and a boy along with it.

"Theon! Language!" a womans shrill voice called out from behind Jon.

The boy who had so suddenly collided with Jon scoffed at that and retorted loudly.

"It's not my fault some bloody muggle just ran at me!"

Jon turned at that, ready to defend himself: he had only been pacing. Then the use of a familiar word shocked him out of a reply.

"Oh and now he's staring at me!" the same boy said, Jon recognised his accent. The boy had seemed much older than Jon, but looking at him now, despite the boys height, he looked only a year or two older than Jon.

Jon blinked stupidly for a second, trying to shake himself out of his nerves.  
"Sorry, but did you just say 'muggle'?"

The boy raised an eyebrow at Jon and shrugged,"Sure. Why?"

Jon could practically feel the boy judging him, but if the boy knew anything about muggles, then he probably knew how to get to Hogwarts.

"Well, it's just, i'm NOT a muggle.. and I kinda-"

"Young man, do you need help finding the platform?" a new voiced asked, appearing from behind the boy, arm in arm with a tall, quite pretty red-haired woman.

Jon nodded, feeling quite embarrassed in front of so many people.

"Well," the woman added,"We're just taking our son, and Theon here, to the platform- if you'd like to join us?"

Thank the gods! Jon was saved! 

"Please. Thank you," Jon smiled, trying not to seem to eager, or they'd know how desperate he was- and that would be quite mortifying.

"Come along then," the man told him, as his wife called out: 

"KIDS! HURRY UP!"

At her call, small ginger children began to appear all around Jon. 

"IS IT TIME?" a rather excited sounding ginger boy, around Jon's age asked seemingly everyone.

"It is indeed, Robb-in Hood," the original boy, Theon, told the ginger boy who Jon presumes is called Robb, as he ruffled the boys hair affectionately. No one, Jon remembers, has ever ruffled his hair. Or really done anything close to affectionate. 

The remainder of the small ginger children seemed very excited, though not quite near the level of excitement that Robb is exuding.  
Jon counts two small ginger girls, and two additional small ginger boys. Though, upon closer inspection, one of the small ginger girls, is actually a small brunette.  
This particular girl, is Jon's favourite as soon as she greets him by telling him, very loudly, and in pure joy

"YOU'RE NOT GINGER!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting fueled on a snickers bar and five hours sleep at 1am, so hopefully i didnt accidentally switch tenses too much because when im tired that can happen.. hope you enjoyed and if you did then feel free to leave a comment.. or dont, it's up to you! 
> 
> (if you have any requests then let me know and ill try to work your hopes and dreams into the fic!)


	5. Fahren!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lads are on the move..

Jon felt a strange sense of solidarity with the girl who had since introduced herself as Arya, as the only other non ginger amongst the group -with the exception of Theon (who's unapologetic confidence intimidated Jon), and 'Ned' (the sullen middle-aged man with a long face, who Jon presumed was the father of all the ginger children). She had been very quick to welcome Jon to her strange family, and lead him to 'the wall', as she had dubbed the barrier separating Hogwarts station from Kings Cross Station, Jon was embarrassed upon the realisation that he had been standing approximately 5 foot away from the barrier for the past half hour. 

"All you've got too do," the mother of the group, whom Jon had heard 'Ned' refer to as Catelyn,"..is walk into the barrier," 

Walk into the barrier? Was this some sort of strange prank? Perhaps this was all one big prank, and soon Aunt Lysa, and Uncle Petyr, and his stupid cousin Robin were going to jump out, and tell him that he was the victim of some elaborate scheme- prank patrol style (Robin had always loved that show).

"Dude?" 

A hand waved in front of Jon's face, and when he blinked Jon saw that the hand belonged to Theon, who was staring at Jon as if he was an idiot- which, in Theon's defence, Jon kinda was. 

"Oh, sorry. So.. I just walk into the barrier?" Jon asked, directing his question at Catelyn, still unsure.

Catelyn smiled at him, and nodded,"Would you like someone to show you?"

"I'll do it, mum!" the smallest child offered, clearly eager to cross the barrier.

"Don't be daft, Rickon, you're too little. I'll go," the other young boy countered.

'Rickon' seemed to take offence at being called 'little', because he practically jumped the other boy, sending them both toppling over.

Ned attempted to pull the boys apart, all the while chuckling to himself, clearly amused by his sons antics. Meanwhile, Catelyn was rolling her eyes at the scene. She mouthed an apology to Jon, before turning to Theon. 

"Show the poor boy what he has to do before Bran and Rickon kill each other, or their father, Theon, would you?"

The older boy grinned lazily, and gave a sarcastic double thumbs up. Everything about him seemed so relaxed, and so cool, to Jon. Then again, Jon didn't really know much about being cool, so to him most people seemed quite cool.  
Theon held out a hand to Robb, who stood firmly by the older boy's side- Robb took it quickly, and allowed Theon to half-march him forwards, straight towards the barrier. They were getting close and they didn't seem to be slowing down. Maybe this wasn't all some strange sort of joke?  
Suddenly, the boys picked up the pace, and with matching grins, ran straight through the barrier.

Jon couldn't help but gasp as the boys disappeared from view, leaving behind no sign that they had ever been at the train station.  
This gasp earnt him a laugh from Arya, and a comforting look from Catelyn.

"Our go!" Arya announced loudly, grabbing Jon's wrist and tugging him.  
Jon almost fell, not expecting the move, but steadied himself quickly (not eager to be knocked over by a nine year old), and grabbed his trolley with both hands, apologising to Arya when this caused her arm to be suspended slightly.

"Ready?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling.

"Ready!" he confirmed, shoving his fears to the back of his mind.

Then they were walking.   
Then they were running.  
Then they hit the barrier. But, no, they passed the barrier!

"Oh my gods! That was amazing! That was the craziest thing i've ever done!" Jon blurted, feeling elated.

Arya let go of his wrist, only to laugh at him, and then punch his shoulder, telling him to 'calm down' and 'stop being lame'.

When Jon finally did calm down, he noticed that they were now in an entirely different train station. And the people who stood around, were wizards. And witches. Magical folk. Many of these people were wearing the strangest outfits that Jon had ever seen, if his Uncle Petyr had been here his Uncle would have probably cried. To Jon's left stood a pocket of teenagers, delightedly discussing.. something, and wearing an array of interesting outfits: a tall blonde girl was wearing a pair of baggy grey sweatpants embellished with fake diamonds, a pair of white cowboy boots, and a tight pink poncho over what Jon suspected was an Adventure Time tee-shirt. The boy next to her was wearing leather pants, bright red football boots, and a far too big green jumper that Jon was certain came for free with his Aunts magazine subscription last month.   
Davos had warned Jon that magical folk didn't quite understand Muggle fashion, but Jon hadn't realised just how clueless these people would be.

"You ready to go, man?" Theon asked, appearing in front of Jon suddenly.

Jon nodded, eager to get going so that he could get some rest- he'd been standing for far too long now, in his opinion.

"Awesome!" Robb grinned widely, as he pulled away from a hug with his father. "I'm ready, too. So let's go!"

Theon led the way, Jon and Robb following closely behind, pushing their trolleys of luggage in front of them. After what felt like an hour of weaving between groups of teens, and overly-attached family members, the trio reached the train. Theon seemed to know where he was going, so the younger boys followed him until he stopped in front of a carriage compartment, when he opened it and found it empty, Theon stepped inside and dumped his luggage onto the floor between the rows of seating before slumping into a seat.  
Robb quickly followed Theon's lead, and sat down next to the older boy. Jon hesitated by the door.

"Come on in, Jonny-boy," Theon beckoned.

Startled, Jon cocked his head,"How do you know my name?"

Theon's face lit up, "I was right? Oh my gods, i'm amazing!" he laughed. "Don't you worry about it. Just come sit down,"

Jon was not reassured, but came in and sat down opposite the other boys, anyways, because who knew if this would be his only 'friend-making opportunity' or not?  
The seat was surprisingly comfortable, and Jon felt his recent lack of sleep catch up with him. He really needed to sleep, unfortunately he doubted he would get any sleep on the train because: A) his stomach was so full of nervous/excited butterflies he felt like he was going to throw up, B) he was in a carriage with two virtual strangers, C) Theon had just pulled out an unnecessarily huge bag of gummy sweets to share, meaning an oncoming sugar high from Robb -who was already very excited- was impending. 

Therefore, instead of sleeping, Jon resolved to read 'Hogwarts: A History', hoping to gain some kind of real understanding of the place he was about to spend the next year of his life. Before Jon can even open the book, however, he is interrupted.

"So," Theon said, his face serious for the first time since they had met,"Are you really Jon Targaryen?"


	6. Magic Supremacists?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new character is introduced. 
> 
> (here is where I would insert smirking emojis, except I have some self control- so I won't)

Stannis had warned Jon that he might be recognised before abandoning him at Kings Cross Station, but Jon honestly hadn't imagined that someone would recognise him so quickly. Jon's hand flew to his forehead in realisation, clutching his white hair as if that would draw attention from it- it had given him away, he could tell by the way Theon's eyes followed the movement.

"I knew it!" Theon exclaimed, looking smug.  
Robb, who had been previously quite engrossed in testing how many sweets he could fit in his mouth at once, was suddenly staring intently at Jon as if Jon were a strange Countdown Conundrum that he wasn't sure how to solve. With so much attention, Jon was feeling rather self conscious, he had grown accustomed to being constantly overlooked and ignored, and the sudden scrutiny was very disconcerting.

"It's not a big deal.." Jon attempted, longing for the boys in front of him to stop ogling him.

Luck was no longer on his side, it seemed, as Theon had simply rolled his eyes and snorted dismissively, and Robb had promptly commenced his seemingly endless flood of questions.

"Did you really get attacked by You-Know-Who?"

"And did you actually kill him?"

"My dad said that you're the most power wizard our age! Is that true?"

"How did your hair get like that?"

Jon could feel his face heating up, a hot blush engulfing his usually very pale face under the pressure of his almost-interrogation. He didn't even know the answer to many of Robb's inquiries. He could read the expressions of expectation on the faces of the boys across from him. And, when Robb became conscious that he probably wouldn't be getting an answer, and had consequently shut up, Jon realised that the train had started moving. He looked between the faces of the boys, Theon raised an eyebrow and met Jon's eye. Robb, on the other hand, appeared somewhat embarrassed by his own interrogation, and glanced away when Jon looked his way.

They sat in silence for a while, and Jon couldn't decide whether he had made a mistake in not answering Robb's questions. He could have missed his only opportunity to make a friend. Jon knew he was really bad with people, his Aunt and Uncle always said so.

"Sorry," Robb blurted, all of a sudden.

Jon couldn't help but grin, the relief of not having ruined his acquaintance with the first wizard his age he'd ever met.

"Thanks, it's okay," Jon assured Robb, who still looked guilty,"I'd be curious, too,"

Robb seemed to cheer up at this remark, and held out the bag of sweets which by now was almost empty, offering them too Jon.  
Jon grinned once more as he reached into the bag, taking out a handful of his favourite white pineapple flavoured sweet, evidently the flavour that Robb was not a fan of- as they were all that remained.

"Wanna play exploding snap?" Theon inquired. Jon did, and so did Robb, and so they played exploding snap for much longer than anyone would ever expect three secondary school aged boys would possibly want to play for, but they didn't bore- Jon thought that the magical cards were amazing, Robb was composing his own versions of old-school Queen songs (courtesy of his sugar high), Theon claimed Robb could sing as well as Brendon Urie, and whilst Jon didn't know who that was, he was inclined to agree- Robb had an unexpectedly nice voice, and Theon found the two of them both hilarious and incredibly lame. It was nice.  
Jon felt happier than he could remember feeling in his whole time with the Baelishes.

Over time, conversation turned to Hogwarts, and Jon could tell that Theon loved being the one who imparted knowledge on Robb and him. Theon, unlike Jon, loved the attention, going as far as to magic himself a beard (which looked ridiculous, but impressed Jon because -whilst he wouldn't admit it to Theon, who's ego didn't need boosting- it looked like difficult magic), and call himself Obi-Wan. Robb had rolled his eyes and told Theon to stop making 'weird Muggle references'. Jon had been embarrassed that he didn't recognise the reference, and that Theon- who Robb told him had lived with his family since he was 5, and therefore had been raised as a wizard- knew more about Muggle media than he did, after being raised by Muggles. 

"Do you think that i'll be in Slytherin, like you?" Robb inquired, excitement quite evident in his tone.

Theon didn't seem to give this any thought, immediately shaking his head -his magic-ed beard disappearing in the process- and laughing,"No, no, you're too innocent. You have to be cunning to be a Slytherin- that's why we're the best house,"

This seemed to have disappointed Robb, who's brow was suddenly furrowed in worry,"Then I won't get too see you!"  

Theon laughed again, reaching out to ruffle Robb's hair when the younger boy frowned.

"Don't worry, Robb. Mags can help me sneak you into my dorm, whenever you want, okay?" 

Reassured, Robb smiled and went back to sipping the pumpkin juice he had purchased when the trolley lady passed through their carriage. Jon, however, was very confused.

"What's a Slythering?" he asked, blushing at his own ignorance, though he knew it wasn't really his fault.

"It's the best House here at Hogwarts, of course," a voice said from the doorway. Jon realised that in his confusion, he had't noticed their carriage's door opening.

Turning towards the source of the voice, Jon noticed first that the girl whom had spoken was exceptionally beautiful: long curling soft brown hair, large doe-like brown eyes, unblemished skin, and a slender figure already showing signs of womanhood despite her age being similar to Theons. The second thing he noticed was that she was dressed in robes already, except her robes didn't look like his. Her tie was black, embellished with green and silver roses, her black knee high socks were knitted, with dark green lace around her knees. Her black skirt was short, ending midway down her thighs, and her crisp white shirt was fitted perfectly for her body, the pocket embellished with a white rose pattern. Even her robes were decorated with roses around the hem. Her decorations should have looked cheap or childish; instead, she looked cool.

"And it's pronounced 'Slytherin'," the girl added, her soft, cheerful voice making the otherwise condescending comment sound kind. 

Jon, not wanting to seem stupid or rude, simply nodded,"Of course, sorry, i'm new," 

The girl smiled, and turned towards Theon and Robb, her bright eyes fixing on the former.

"Greyjoy!" she called out, a genuine grin gracing her pretty lips, and showing off her perfect white teeth.

"Tyrell," Theon grinned back cooly, 

The girl fell easily onto Theon's lap, pulling him into a friendly embrace, her face buried in his shoulder.

"I missed you," she laughed. Her laugh was magical. Infectious. Jon had to bite his lip to keep from laughing along with her- he didn't want to intrude.

To avoid staring, Jon glanced over at Robb, intending to share a look, like friends do. But when he tried to meet Robb's eye, Jon noticed a sour expression on the boys face as he watched Theon with this 'Tyrell'. 

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" the girl asked, when she finally pulled away from Theon, and slid off his lap, onto the bench, besides him. Theon shrugged, and was about to obey her request, when she interrupted.

"Wait, actually don't. I'll guess!" She decided, standing up to get a better look at Jon and Robb.

The girl glanced at Robb, studying his face, and the way he leant into Theon's side, and her eyes widened gleefully.

"The infamous Robb Stark!" she announced, pointing a finger in his direction,"Theon never shuts up about you," she laughed.

Robb seemed pleased, but his face was quite red, presumably at the sudden attention.

"Tell me, young Stark. Did Theon REALLY once convince you that he could turn into a Giant Squid at will?" She teased, her smile widening when Robb put his head in his hands, blushing profusely. 

"Very impressive," she applauded, offering Theon a high-five.

Then, she turned her attention to Jon.

"And Jon Targaryen?" she announced, raising an eyebrow,"Defeater of magical supremacists!" 

"It was just one.." Jon corrected, blushing.

The girl shrugged, waving his comment away,"Thanks, anyway,"

"Where did you find this one?" she asked Theon, impressed.

Theon laughed,"We picked him up on the streets, he was very lost and confused,"

"How generous. Didn't Robb's parents recognise him?" She asked, a curious look in her eyes.

Theon shrugged, trying to keep his voice low, presumably so that Jon couldn't hear him. It didn't work because, as it turned out, Theon was shit at whispering.

"If they did they kept it to themselves.. probably don't want him too know who they are,"

The girl nodded as if this made perfect sense, and lowered her own voice to whisper something- unfortunately for Jon, she was better at this than Theon.

Jon's daily quota for weird and confusing shit had been reached, and he couldn't deal with any more. Should the names Ned and Catelyn Stark mean something to him? They didn't, but then again Jon didn't really know anything, about anything -Stannis had said as much. Maybe, he thought, he should do some research. Or ask Robb when they were alone. For now, however, he wasn't going to think about it. He would focus on Hogwarts, and his new friends(?).


	7. Yellow

By the time the Hogwarts Express finally reached the school, the boys had all changed into their robes, and were napping in the carriage due to the crash of their sugar high. Margaery sat cross-legged practising curling her hair using her wand, she was an especially gifted witch and her friends often complained that magic (especially this grooming technique) came unfairly easily to her. She argued that whilst her family was notorious skilled in magic, Margaery certainly put the effort in, and deserved her abilities. Admittedly, if one was to look at Margaery Tyrell, they would not guess that she was hardworking or highly intelligent. They might guess that she was just a beautiful girl. They would be wrong. Not many people knew it, but not only was Margaery extremely hardworking and extraordinarily intelligent- she was also a huge nerd. She took pleasure in reading anything and everything, and once Theon had caught her secretly 'borrowing' his Doctor Who boxset and laptop (he was very thankful that Hogwarts now had functioning wifi and that electronics finally worked).

As the train came to an abrupt stop, Margaery nudged Theon's hip with her knee, startling him out of sleep, and off of Robb's shoulder. The boy sat up, running a hand sleepily through his hair which was inevitably mussed from sleep. Margaery, finishing her final curl, waved her wand at his hair and laughing at his annoyed expression as she spelled his hair tidy. Theon loved to act like he hated it when Margaery helped him with things, but she suspected he quite liked being looked after because he was a lazy ass. 

Theon joked that she took her role of the 'mum friend' too seriously when she gently shook the younger boys awake and informed them that they were at Hogwarts, but Margaery ignored him in favour of brushing out Jons flood of deep black curls. To no avail, Jons hair simply didn't do tidy.  
Then, whilst wrapping a green silk scarf around her neck and pulling on a matching woollen knit cap, Margaery pulled open the carriage door and grinned,"Let's go boys," she laughed happily, locking eyes with Theon over her shoulder and holding out a hand.  
Theon took her outstretched hand and followed her out into the corridor, and grabbed Robb's wrist with his free hand.  
Robb smiled nervously at Jon, and the two younger boys followed the Slytherin duo out into the corridor, and to the trains open door.

Stepping off of the train and onto the platform, Jon took in the sight before him. Though still far off, Hogwarts was enormous. It looked like the home of some fairytale princess, like in the Disney movies that he sometimes watched when he was at Septa Mordanes.

"Woah!" Jon whispered, almost involuntarily. 

Robb, who stood besides him grinned widely,"I know, right!"

Jon didn't have much more time to process his new school, before he was being ushered towards the edge of the lake by Margaerys arm firmly around his shoulder, as she gushed about how excited she was too be back, to his left he was vaguely aware of Robb being guided in the same direction by Theon.

When they finally came to a stop at the edge of the lake, Jon noticed that he was surrounded by lots of confused looking kids, most of whom looked about his age, and many of whom were clinging to an older student.  
"First Years go by boat," Theon said, falling into place beside Jon, as if that explained everything.

"We've go to go, or we'll miss the carriages," Margaery apologised, patting Jons shoulder gently, and tugging Theon's hand as she began to walk back in the direction they'd just came. Theon gave Robb a one armed hug as Margaery tugged him away, and shrugged apologetically,"Look after each other?" he advised.

Robb looked helplessly after them, confusion clouding his blue eyes,"What..?" he whispered.  
Jon shrugged, feeling as confused as Robb looked. 

"Excuse me?" an unfamiliar voice addressed the boys, who turned quickly to see who was speaking to them in the hope of some kind of explanation.  
A petite young girl with olive skin stood before them, brown hair tied back in a tidy ponytail and face schooled into a serious expression. 

"Mister Seaworth would like you to line up for the boats." She gestured towards a wobbly line of First Years which was quickly forming behind them.  
"Quickly," she added, as an afterthought, before marching off to inform another pair of confused First Years as to what they were supposed to be doing. 

The boys traded a look and made their way to the end of the line, behind a group of girls, one of which had a large blue and pink striped blanket wrapped around her shoulders clumsily, as she held it in place with mitten clad hands. 

The boys quickly reached the front of the line as there seemed to be no end to the vast number of boats owned by the school.  
Upon finding himself at the head of the line, Jon realised that the person responsible to sending the First Years across the lake was familiar to him. It was Davos.

"Hello there, Jon!" the man greeted him cheerfully, accent more noticeable than Jon remembered.  
"Hello Davos," Jon replied, giving the man a small smile before allowing Davos to help himself and Robb into a half-full boat.  
The two girls who already sat inside the boat spared a glance at the boys, but seemed to tired to really care who they were sharing a boat with.  
Jon was quite impressed with the speed at which the boat travelled along the lake, and at the realisation that the boat was using magic to guide itself to the other side of the lake. As the school got closer, Jon noticed groups of students arriving via horseless carriages in small groups, Margaery and Theon he realised, were probably already inside the school.

The school seemed even bigger up close, and he could see that it was made of silvery-grey stone. From the sounds of awe the girls in front of him were making, Jon suspected he wasn't the only one who was impressed.  
Robb, nudged Jons side and complained that Theon had told him that the school was made of diamonds and suspended 100 foot in the air. Jon told Robb that he probably shouldn't believe the crap Theon told him. 

Robb sighed and asked Jon if he thought Theon had also been lying when he told Robb that everyone got their own dragon.

When the boat reached the other side of the lake, Jon was very excited to get inside the school and be in the warmth- because he had suddenly become very aware of the cool air whipping his face. 

Getting out of the boat had been a challenge, because Robb had the coordination of a toddler learning to walk, and Jon found his struggle so amusing that he'd almsot fell out the boat laughing. The girls, who had graciously offered to let the boys get out first were holding back laughs behind pursed lips and teasing comments.  
"Come on, Sheeran!" one girl called out,"You can do it!"  
The girls friend had exchanged an incredulous look with Jon at that comment, because the girl who had teased Robb for his red hair, was even more ginger than Robb.

Finally out of the boat, the four of them found themselves being marched towards the castles huge open doors, and realised that they were the last ones to arrive due to Robbs incredible lack of 'getting out of a boat' skill.

This meant that upon entering the building, a crowd of students were surrounding someone that Jon couldn't quite see, Robb whispered that it was Tyrion Lannister, the deputy headteacher, who was giving some kind of talk.  
"Okay, that's all. Now, it's time to get you all sorted. Literally," Jon heard the man chuckle.  
A large double door that Jon hand't previously noticed opened behind the crowd, and Jon watched as a man who was a few inches shorted than himself, lead the crowd of students through the doors and into an impressively large hall.

Four very long tables full with students clad in black robes took up the majority of the rooms space, and at the end of the room there was a smaller table that sat adults, whom Jon presumed were teachers. Each table was laden with gleaming silver plates and goblets, and there were hundreds of candle floating in the air around the room. The ceiling, Jon noted when he looked up, looked like the sky, lit up with stars.  
"It's enchanted to look like that, or that's what I read," a smiling, slightly pudgy boy with an unfortunate bowl cut informed Jon proudly. 

Reaching the back (or the front?) of the room felt quite daunting, because Jon was very aware of the eyes of lots of students on the group. The man Robb had told Jon was Tyrion Lannister told the First Years to form a line, and as they did so, he placed a hat upon a stool in front of the line, right in the middle.  
Jon was so nervous, realising the attention that he would probably be subject to, that he didn't notice the hat burst into song, or the students applauding it in amusement. He was only brought to his senses, when Robb knocked his shoulder and whispered,"At least we don't have to fight a troll."  
Jon was certain he knew where that idea had came from.

Tyrion then walked to the stool and held up a long list, and began to read from it.

"Baratheon, Joffrey." 

A boy, tall for his age, stepped out from the line boldly, he seemed unfairly at ease as he made his way towards the stool. He rested the hat easily against his sandy blond hair, as if he had practised the action, and grinned at Tyrion, who simply rolled his eyes at the boy.

The hat rested on his head for what Jon would guess at 20 seconds before a slit open, like a mouth, a yelled,"SLYTHERIN!"  
The table to Jon's far right applauded loudly, and Jon presumed this table held the Slytherin students.  
Standing with a smirk on his face, the boy took off his hat and made his way towards the table to his far right, which Jon noticed was full of students wearing green in addition to their black robes- like Margaery had been, and Theon.  
Some kind of house pride?  
Jon noticed then that each table featured a different colour. Those on his far left wore red, and the next table wore yellow, the table besides the Slytherins sat students in blue.

In all his observations, Jon didn't pay attention to the sorting, until he noticed a boy nearby him tripping over at the mention of his own name.

"Payne, Podrick?" 

Robb helped the boy up, and gently pushed him towards the stool with an encouraging smile.

The boy sat on the stool cautiously and blushed when the hat quickly called out,"HUFFLEPUFF!" almost as instantly as it had touched his head.

The yellow house, whom Jon guessed must be Hufflepuff, outdid Slytherin with their cheering as a nervous Podrick approached their table.  
Jon decided to pay more attention, and watched as Reed, Meera became a Gryffindor (the red house, he noted), and Royce, Myranda became a Slytherin.

"Stark, Robb."

Jon could hear Theon and Margaery hollering encouragingly over the whispering of the crowd, and laughed as Robb went very red and walked to the stool.  
Robb sat there longer than anyone else (or longer than anyone that Jon had actually paid attention to), but eventually the sorting hat yelled,"GRYFFINDOR!"  
The declaration was met by loud cheers that rivalled those of the Hufflepuff table.  
Removing the hat and jumping off the stool, Jon could see Robbs disappointment in the longing glance he sent the Slytherin table as he walked towards his new house, and settled himself besides a tall, older girl who he seemed familiar with.

Jon watched as the older girl put an arm around Robbs shoulders and said something that made the boy laugh. He watched the pair until he was sure that his new friend was okay. Tarly, Sam became a Ravenclaw. And then..

"Targaryen, Jon."

The room went silent. Oh Gods, Jon screamed internally. Because OF COURSE, he had forgotten that he was famous! Now, under the scrutiny of the student body, Jon could see that people were recognising him.  
He could hear the small amount of remaining First Years whispering about Jons hair and 'You-Know-Who'. Jon could feel his normally pale face going very very red.

"Mr Targaryen, please." Tyrion sighed, seemingly uninterested. 

Jon was hyperaware of everyone staring at him and felt the urge to melt into the ground. Instead he schooled his face into one of expressionless confidence, or at least he tried. And walked to the stool.  
He picked up the hat, noting how heavy it was and sat down. Once the hat was on his head, Jon almost fell off his chair in shock when he heard the hat talking to him.

"Jon Targaryen? It's been a while since I sorted your mother and father. Great people, they were. I can see that you are brave like your mother, and bold like your father. But I can see how loyal you will be. A difficult decision to be sure. But not impossible. I know just where to place you,"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Jon stumbled of the stool, placing the hat on the stool, and took a breath, trying to calm himself down. The yellow table of Hufflepuffs were applauding very loudly, and Jon shakily made his way towards the table, taking a seat between Podrick Payne who smiled at Jon with a strange look of admiration, and a tall blond girl who looked much older than Jon (she was probably 18- practically an adult, Jon thought), who introduced herself as "Brienne Tarth. Head Girl".

Desperate to shake off his nerves, Jon watched as Waters, Gendry joined him at the Hufflepuff table; Westerling, Jeyne became a Ravenclaw; and Wilde, Ygritte (the ginger girl from the boat) became a Gryffindor.

However much Jon tried to pay attention to 'Professor Baratheon' who according to Brienne was the Headmaster, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. So, he did what any normal person would do: sat silently and tried to make himself invisible.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long to be updated! But wow, finally!


End file.
